CHAPTER THIRTY.
ANOTHER MISHAP.
In another minute Eric arrived where his brother was lying; when, throwing himself on his knees, he bent over him anxiously.

"Oh, Fritz, are you badly hurt ?" he cried: and, still receiving no answer, he burst into a passion of sobs.

"He's dead, he's dead!" he wailed in a broken voice--"dead, never to speak to me more!" "No, laddie, not quite dead yet," whispered Fritz faintly.

The sudden blow in the back from the goat's horns, striking him as it did at the base of the spine, had rendered him for the moment unconscious; the unexpected attack had injured him terribly--more so, indeed, than the bullet wound through his leg.

Besides, he was lying face downwards, and so was unable to turn over, which fact prevented him from speaking more plainly when he recovered his senses.
"Not dead?
Oh, I am so glad!" shouted out Eric joyously, in sudden revulsion of feeling.